


Colorless

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Series: Loving Fire (KagaKuro) [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Related, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Making Out, Metaphors, Nightmares, Slash, so many metaphors, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroko worries that he’s using Kagami, to fill a void from his past. But does Kagami know? Set shortly before the Winter Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colorless

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of the second KnB fic I wrote, which was originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/122812757982/colorless-knb-fic). I was asked to upload it to Ao3 as well, so here it is, finally! This new version has been edited to make it better fit with the other KagaKuro fics in this series, as they're all meant to be part of the same general headcanon. Enjoy!

“You’re trying to save them, aren’t you?”

Kuroko looked up at Kagami, as they waited for the light to change. Seirin’s red-haired ace wore his usual gruff expression. His thick brows were furrowed, his jaw set. He stared straight ahead, toward the opposite side of the street. They were just a few blocks away from Kagami’s apartment.

Kuroko didn’t ask what Kagami meant by his question. He already knew. Even the apparently ambiguous “them” could only refer to one group of people.

He looked away again. “How long have you thought that?”

“Now you’re just dodging me.” Kagami snorted.

A smile tweaked the corners of Kuroko’s mouth. “Isn’t that what I do best?”

“That’s what you can do, stupid. Not who you are. If anything, your personality is the opposite.” Kagami paused. “And I’ve known for a while. I just never said anything.”

The green light flashed, and they made their way through the crosswalk. Kuroko was silent, thinking. Kagami already knew the truth. Somehow, though, Kuroko still didn’t want to say too much about this particular subject.

He hadn’t told Kagami everything about his time at Teikou. He knew he would someday—he wanted to tell all his teammates about it, in fact—but he wasn’t ready. Not quite.

“It’s not anything noble,” he said. “I’m not doing it to be selfless, or defeat them for their sake.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing, that’s exactly what it looks like.” Kagami shot him a look, and his scarlet eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you want to win against them. Who doesn’t? But I knew something was off ever since you said you were using me to beat them, to prove your way of basketball was better.”

“I meant what I said,” Kuroko began, but Kagami interrupted him.

“Partly, maybe.” He shrugged. “But you’re not that type of guy. You don’t do anything just to win. Wasn’t that what you hated about the Generation of Miracles?”

Kuroko said nothing.

“So you got this idea into your puny head, that beating them would fix them somehow.” Kagami hefted a sigh, and shifted the strap of his gym bag. “Just one problem. Your old teammates are seriously screwed up. Even I can tell that much, and I barely know them.”

Kuroko pursed his lips. “My head isn’t puny.”

“I can palm it like a basketball.” Kagami grinned down at him, in a way that made Kuroko dodge in advance. Sure enough, Kagami made a swipe for his head, but Kuroko sidestepped him just in time.

“Please don’t do that,” he said, in his sternest tone of voice. Kagami laughed.

They passed through a crowd of people. Most of the pedestrians wore jackets, to help shield them from the autumn chill. The jackets were gray and beige and brown, blending into the muted cityscape around them. Kuroko wondered when the world had become so colorless.

He glanced at Kagami, whose head towered above the crowd. His red hair was like a splash of paint on an otherwise dull canvas. It caught the eyes of every pedestrian they passed. Maybe that was why, Kuroko mused. The world wasn’t colorless. But he was always drawn to such colorful people. Of course everything else looked a little gray in comparison.

The thought ached, stirring memories of five vibrant individuals who had once walked alongside him. He pushed it away.

“You’re right,” he said, catching Kagami’s attention again. “About them. They aren’t bad people, not really. But in our last year together, something went wrong. Not just with the team… But with them.”

He hesitated, as the ache in his chest sharpened. He drew a breath.

“They each… broke, somehow,” he said, more quietly than before. “Some of them broke very badly. To be honest, I’m not sure it can be repaired.”

“Then why are you bothering?” Kagami said. His tone wasn’t harsh or skeptical. If anything, it was subdued. Kinder than Kuroko would have expected.

“Because I owe them,” he said. “Each of them, in one way or another. Especially when it comes to basketball.”

He lowered his gaze to the pavement. He could still remember the nights in the second gym at Teikou, those long hours practicing with Aomine-kun. He recalled Aomine’s encouraging words, the way he always smiled at him, no matter how badly he messed up. And then there was the day he met Akashi-kun. The vice captain not only took notice of him, much to Kuroko’s astonishment, but gave him the advice he needed to finally succeed at his favorite sport.

Soon after that, they were all teammates. Murasakibara had been a good friend, an easy person to talk to, even during high-pressure times like tournaments. Kise had been an inspiration, someone Kuroko aimed to beat—and someone who respected him, which mattered to Kuroko more than he thought it would. Even Midorima, who made it clear he didn’t like Kuroko, had been so dependable. He worked hard, night after night, even after the team had more or less fallen apart. He had been a rock in the middle of a storm, one of the few things Kuroko found reassuring during that time.

All of them had loved basketball. Kuroko was certain of it. But that love had dimmed, darkened by the downward spiral of their last year at Teikou.

Kuroko let out a silent sigh. He looked to Kagami.

“I know how it feels to lose your way,” he said softly. “I came to Seirin to rediscover my love for basketball. And with your help, I did. I want to do the same thing for them. Or at least help, in some small way. Maybe only their new teammates can truly fix them. But I can point them in that direction, by breaking them out of the patterns they’ve been living in.”

“By beating their asses, you mean,” Kagami said, brows raised.

Kuroko managed a smile. “I told you, it’s not noble. But it’s the only idea I have.”

The wind quickened then, rustling the sleeves of their warm-up jackets and nipping at their faces. The sun began to set, and with it came the cold of the gathering night. Together they hurried toward Kagami’s apartment complex, where many of the windows already glowed with warmth.

Kuroko could sense Kagami leading the way up the front steps, then unlocking the door. But he didn’t fully register his actions. Instead he followed his partner almost mechanically, lost in thought. They were halfway up the inner stairwell when he finally spoke again.

“They think I resent them,” he said. “That I just want to beat them, to prove that teamwork matters. Even if I succeed, and it helps, I don’t think they’ll forgive me. But I can’t help feeling like I have to try.”

Kagami glanced over his shoulder. For once, Kuroko couldn’t quite read the look on his face. They kept climbing, and at last Kagami shrugged.

“Yeah, you could be right.” He paused at his front door, twirling his key ring around his finger. “They might not forgive you. Like I said, they’re seriously screwed up. But you also worry too much.”

Kuroko tried not to sound skeptical. “Even if I’m right?”

“Especially then,” Kagami said with a snort. “If they end up with a grudge against you, that’s their problem. You’re doing what you think is right. And that’s all there is to it.”

He unlocked the door and led the way into his apartment. Kuroko shadowed him, as usual, and wondered how the world looked from Kagami’s point of view. Everything sounded so simple when he said it, so clear-cut, like he couldn’t imagine why anyone would waste their time with something like doubt. Kuroko wondered how that felt, to be so sure of your beliefs that you never felt the need to question them. 

It was a trait he had envied, ever since he first noticed it in the people he admired most. People like Kagami, and many of his old teammates. Then again, he supposed, it wasn’t for a shadow to always be certain—to shine without question, or never change shape. A shadow was only as fixed as the light that cast it. The light could move freely, but the shadow had to shift with it.

Of course, sometimes the light would move on altogether. And leave the shadow in need of a new one.

Kuroko tried not to think about this, as he and Kagami went about their evening. Kagami made dinner, and Kuroko helped him. They shared the stew they had made (Kuroko ate about a fifth of it, and Kagami the rest), and then they watched pointless television while sitting on the couch. Kuroko successfully resisted the temptation to rest his head against Kagami’s shoulder… Or at least he did, until Kagami looped an arm around him and pulled him close, as if to say that was exactly what he wanted. 

That was the strange thing about being around Kagami lately. There was so little hesitation or guesswork. Just closeness.

And then it happened again, that thing Kuroko couldn’t quite explain, when they met each other’s eyes too long. Suddenly Kuroko’s heart beat faster, and his mouth went dry. He licked his lips; Kagami did the same. The next thing he knew, he had an arm curled around Kagami’s neck, and Kagami’s fingers were tangled in his hair, and they were kissing. On the mouth, along the cheek, under the jawline…

Before long, Kuroko could barely breathe. His chest felt tight, and warmth washed over his body. He shuddered. He had never kissed anyone like this, not until he met Kagami. He had never felt the urge to. Holding someone’s hand had been a pleasant thought, and even simple kisses seemed appealing enough, but this…

This was something else entirely.

This was an ache in his chest, a yearning. An urge to get close, and then closer still. Somehow, no matter how many times he pressed his lips to Kagami’s skin, the urge was never quite satisfied.

Kuroko wondered, idly, what was happening to him.

After a few minutes—or was it much longer?—they pulled apart. Kuroko’s face burned with heat, and Kagami shifted his legs, obviously uncomfortable. Kuroko smiled, forcing himself not to look down.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Was that too much?”

“What, too much for me?” Kagami folded his arms. “Please. I can handle you.”

Kuroko chuckled, and resisted the urge to challenge that assertion.

“You know, we don’t always—” He hesitated. The words hung on his lips, but he wasn’t sure if he should voice them.

_“We don’t always have to stop.”_

He swallowed, even as his stomach gave a pleasant lurch. They had only been kissing for a few months. Kuroko had never expected to want more, not in such a short amount of time. He didn’t even know _what_ he wanted, really. Each possibility that occurred to him only heightened the heat coursing through his face. (And, well, other places.) He shifted in his seat, as subtly as he could.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. He didn’t want to pressure Kagami, or rush their relationship. (Whatever it was… Even now, Kuroko wasn’t exactly sure. They hadn’t really talked about it yet.) In the end, he just shrugged.

“Never mind,” he said. “It’s nothing. I’m glad you can handle me.”

Kagami raised an eyebrow. He had caught the teasing in Kuroko’s tone, apparently. He stood and stretched, catlike. Kuroko stared at the muscles in his partner’s back, so intently he thought he might burn a hole through his t-shirt.

Kagami didn’t seem to notice. “You’ve got a lot of sass for such a small dude. Just for that, you’re taking the couch.”

“That’s not terribly hospitable,” Kuroko said.

Kagami chucked a throw pillow at him. “Yeah, well, cry me a river, Casanova.” 

Kuroko smiled again. He took out his phone, to ask his parents if he could spend the night. Ten minutes later, he was changing in the bathroom. (He had started carrying an extra pair of sleeping clothes in his gym bag, just for these occasions.) He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was tousled, and his skin was flushed from the kissing earlier. Flushed, and somehow glowing… As though his skin had been tinted with color, and touched with light.

Tinted with red, actually. And touched with fire.

Kuroko let out a breath. He didn’t want to think too hard about it. Still, he couldn’t help noticing how Kagami shared everything with him. Not just the obvious things, like the space on his couch or the food in his refrigerator. But his warmth, his light, his color… Kagami shared every part of himself, freely, like it was nothing.

Maybe it _was_ nothing, from Kagami’s point of view. Maybe it was like taking a breath, or letting his heart beat. It just happened. A basic bodily function.

It was more than that to Kuroko, though.

He said goodnight to Kagami a few minutes later, then curled up on the couch with a borrowed blanket. He felt warm all over, and calm. As though nothing could worry him, and he was perfectly safe. The last thought he had before he fell asleep was that he hadn’t felt this warm in a long time.

* * *

So many colors, like a rainbow. Red, yellow, green, blue, purple. Even pink. An entire spectrum of light, so brilliant it nearly blinded him. Laughter hung in the air, familiar, and close. So close he could reach out and hold it in his hands.

This time, that laughter wouldn’t fade away. He wouldn’t let it.

Darkness crept into his peripheral vision. It curled through the air like ink in water. Slowly, the darkness spread. It seeped into the brilliant colors, infecting them. His heart sank, until he felt almost sick. He couldn’t hear the laughter anymore. The blue light began to flicker.

_“Sorry, Tetsu. I don’t think you were wrong, but…”_

_“You haven’t passed to me once since then.”_

“Don’t.” He shuddered. “Please, stop. I can’t bear this again. Please.”

_“Tetsu-kun… Do you remember what I said before?”_

“I remember.” The words ached in his mouth. The pink in the light was shrinking. “I’m sorry, Momoi-san, I won’t lie to you this time. You asked if we would always be together. And I said—”

_“Once a plate cracks, it will never be whole again.”_

The darkness grew and grew. It was bigger than all of the colors now. Dimming them, dulling them. Blotting them out.

“Stop, please,” he cried. “Who are you? I don’t understand.”

He reached for the darkness, trying to pull it back. But his fingers couldn’t grasp it. The spectrum of light wavered, then disappeared.

The darkness swelled, black and immense, until there was nothing left. Until he was just another cold, colorless thing. A being without form, blurred around the edges. A shadow with no tether, drifting in the void.

* * *

Kuroko jolted upright, awake. He fought for breath, and sweat dripped beneath his shirt. It was cold—no, freezing, like droplets of ice against his skin. All the warmth was gone. This realization struck him like a blow to the chest, and he doubled over. He gripped his knees, then slid his trembling hands down to his ankles… They were solid. He was still there, he told himself. He hadn’t faded away.

Then, just like that, the warmth returned. Somehow, Kagami was standing there, saying his name. A moment later, he was on the couch, and he had his arms around him. Kuroko gasped for breath, clinging to Kagami’s shirtfront like he was in danger of drowning. 

“Hey,” Kagami said. He patted him on the back. “Hey, it’s all right. You’re gonna be fine. It was just a nightmare.”

Kuroko shook his head. The memory of the dream ached. It felt like a hole in his heart, a gaping space that wasn’t supposed to be empty. He tried not to think about it, to focus on Kagami’s touch instead. He gradually stopped shaking, and his lungs relaxed, until he was able to speak again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t told you everything. I haven’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kagami said. His voice was a growl, deep inside his chest. “Okay? I already know you haven’t. I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about any of that.”

He tightened his grip. Kuroko didn’t fight it. Instead he slipped his arms around Kagami’s back and pulled closer too. He pressed so tightly against his partner that he could barely breathe. It lessened the ache, somehow.

“There’s nothing you can say that will change anything,” Kagami added.

Kuroko managed a weak laugh. He shut his eyes, and darkness was everywhere. “Things change, Kagami-kun. There’s no help for it.”

“Not everything,” Kagami said, with sudden fierceness. “Nothing _has_ to change. Only if people let it.”

Kuroko wanted to point out that if nothing had changed over the past year, they never would have met. But he stopped himself. Something small and cold pressed against his forehead… The ring on Kagami’s necklace. He remembered the story Kagami had told him, about where the ring came from.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one afraid of people changing.

“ _I_ won’t change, anyway.” Kagami sounded almost pained. “Maybe everyone else will. But I won’t. Not like that.”

Kuroko felt the shiver of a smile.

“I believe you,” he murmured. He took a deep, careful breath. Kagami’s scent surrounded him, the heady musk of sweat and the fabric softener in his t-shirt. It was a warm smell, warm and present. Always the same.

That was the thing about Kagami. His light didn’t flicker.

Kuroko let out a sigh, and his body relaxed. He loosened his hold, just enough to turn his head to the side. The balcony window stood uncovered, shining with the nightglow of the city. He curled his legs around Kagami’s, letting the blanket fall to the floor.

“Just… stay the way you are, please,” he said. “And…”

_“Don’t leave me behind.”_

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The words curdled on his tongue. Those weren’t the sort of words you were supposed to say out loud—not to a person you trusted. And he knew better. He honestly did. Kagami wouldn’t do that. He had proven it, time and time again. So Kuroko choked down the words, and lowered his head.

“Sure thing,” Kagami said.

He held Kuroko closer, until there was no space between them. They stayed like that for what seemed like a very long time. Gradually, Kuroko grew warmer, and the ache inside him eased. He kept his head down, and tried not to think about how much Kagami’s presence comforted him.

The truth was, Kuroko resented his own weakness. He hated clinging to people, needing them. He didn’t want anyone to know he did. The thought made him want to disappear, to run to the farthest corners of the earth. Where no one knew what kind of person he really was.

But he was a shadow. As much as he hated it, he needed some form of light. A ray of hope, something. Otherwise he kept getting lost in the darkness—his own darkness, the fears and doubts that still crept into his thoughts sometimes, in defiance of his better self.

Kagami helped him to forget about those fears. His warmth, his energy, the way he grinned and hollered and joked around… Kuroko tilted his head, resting it beside his partner’s heart. It beat with a steady rhythm, like a drum. He smiled in spite of himself, and closed his eyes again.

“I _am_ using you,” he whispered, so softly it was almost silent. “You know that, right?”

Kagami’s heartbeat quickened. “Yeah, I know.” He heaved a breath. “But it’s not as bad as you make it sound, dumbass. We both get something out of the deal.”

Kuroko wondered what Kagami meant. Maybe he still didn’t know what he was being used for. Maybe he thought it was just his talent in basketball. Because if he really did understand, Kuroko had no idea what he was receiving in return.

Kagami relaxed their embrace, and leaned back a little. He cupped Kuroko’s chin.

“Anyway, I kind of want you to,” he muttered. “Use me, that is. So take whatever part of me you need.”

Kuroko’s eyes widened. He couldn’t quite believe what had just heard. Then Kagami bent his head and kissed him. The softness of his mouth, the heat of his breath, even the strong grip of his hand… It all set Kuroko’s skin tingling, and made his heart pound, until he felt almost dizzy.

Kagami finished the kiss, and rested his forehead against Kuroko’s. He stared at him, hard, with those dark red irises that flamed like fire.

“And don’t worry about that crap anymore,” he growled. “Got it?”

Kuroko nodded, almost without thinking. He gave Kagami a kiss too, with every intention of making it as chaste as the first one. And it was, for a moment… But then Kuroko found himself grabbing onto Kagami’s shirt, and sliding his tongue into his mouth. And Kagami made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Kuroko’s insides quivered, until he finally couldn’t stand it anymore.

He braced his hands against Kagami’s shoulders and pushed, firmly, until Kagami was lying on his back on the couch. Then Kuroko climbed on top of him. He kissed Kagami, over and over, until both of their chests were heaving for breath. He let his hands wander too, cupping Kagami’s shoulders and trailing down his back and even slipping under his t-shirt, to trace the hard muscles underneath.

With every touch, he felt as though as he was taking something from Kagami—bits of light, scraps of heat, pieces of color—and yet somehow, there never seemed to be any less of it for him to take.

At last Kuroko pulled away, panting, wondering if he had finally gone too far. Only to discover Kagami grinning up at him. He was actually _grinning_ , like this was the best thing that had ever happened. Not just to him, but to anyone. He reached out and yanked Kuroko down onto his chest again. 

And Kuroko’s heart leapt, and his worries melted away, like darkness before light. Even there in the dim room, the world seemed bright and colorful again.

He would ask Kagami’s permission, if it was all right to go further. He would ask him every step of the way, about what he liked, and how everything felt, and if he wanted more. And if he wanted this to mean anything—or nothing, or everything.

But Kuroko did not ask Kagami again, if it was all right to use him.


End file.
